Gary Sullivan2/1/99
Dear Nada,
You are in the garden of an inn just outside Prague
& I'm there too, simply by reading
Apollinaire, thousands of miles between us erased, imagine!
discolored by distance no more
The door is my own tongue & I can't help it, I'm an atheist
what other pleasures can I claim from this weary world
besides escaping the many horrible things that can happen
& which are, anyway, too obvious an end.
If I simply look up
the bits of brick buildings outside that window (I'm
not looking up yet, relax) will disappear, & you'll see what I wear
on my head. It's as unfortunate as Picasso
standing in the mirror behind the rather large crowd he's gathered there.When you write to me, everyone else sleeps, when I write to you
they open their eyes in the snow, they're
the only reason we need to think or talk at all, even they
know the weight of your body on mine, its wet air
though they're not warm, like you, nor do they smileYou make me thick, that's my song, tho I'm dreamy-eyed when I sing it
the kiss of my hands sucked against you
but you
want specifics. & only then, to enjoy them? Neruda kept his heart yellow
when he wrote, as what isn't? Even yellow rice is delicious-looking
in a blue bowl. All of this is besides the point, I'm limp
with details, the most available ocean (three miles to my left)
is polluted, my eyes are acid blue at breakfast, thinking like this
makes me rash
& doesn't turn my cock female
any more than your voice is these words I see, hell anyone
can see a petunia, even a woven petunia.I feel like a typist. Forgive me. I imagine things happen as I tell them
but, Nada, only to you
my committed repose. Tilt your head
& give me your lips, what would you like me
to give you? My cigarette, to crush out? How about some
flannel pajamas? What else stick your bare toes through, & then
to vanish, all out, to fatten the airNot possible to sink down beside you. Tomorrow
you'll be in New York, but tonight the rivers are black, casually further
oh where oh where, my cock blown apart
like the morning paper, it was the color of my throatlove,
Gary
7/8/99
Dear Nada,
Think each thought through to its logical conclusion?
I think about you all the time
But as I said, not through, not towards anything at all
Like this evening, how I think not even I so persists
As when I think of you, & then I think
How I love your continuity, how beautiful you are tonight
Still hungry?
Perhaps I'm agreeable merely because I'm naked
Or because I'm honest & not so upset as to be too delicate
As though anyone can give me a solution to all my problems
Such as myself, to whom I am speaking.
No, that's a lie.
That's just me. Like you I need to be oiled, & kissed
It's only Thursday, I'm 36, mostly sleepless
Except in my continual tendency not to be. It's no fun to say
Goodnight, what if we grow older? As I write this
You're in bed, asleep, where I can't find you
I wish I was hung over, my wingspread foliate, my fronds
Be small & stand in awe.
Sometimes I get depressed
Because I smile like you. When will
You be up? Don't you want
Another beer? My weak bladder, let me, it's too hot in here
The moon on your face, it's not even August yet
What is there ever besides various nouns & there they are
Like the weather ruffled & filled & raining
Don't any ordinary person, well, frankly I am, & need
Nothing having happening.
To do, anything. & being
Alive? Me too.
Love,Gary
7 / 1 3 / 9 9
Dear Nada,
E "Use words to describe emotions?
d I wouldn't, if I were you ..."
i
s <-----------------[1877]
o
n I've had that phrase
jostling about in my head for at least a year
n I can't remember who wrote it or where I read it
o but your letter reminded me it was there, or "here"
t as the case may be. |
i It may be impossible |
c to "say what I really wanted to you" [relinquished]
e to anyone, any one you. "The kinds of
s questions one chooses to pose bring the kinds of answers
one fears from abstraction." (I have to quote
" from elsewhere because someone is playing that horrid
w Ricky Martin song again in the cubicle behind me
e & it's impossible to think my own thoughts.) Still,
i anyone might want to avoid:
r
d "The impenetrability of avoidance
, is not absolute"
. |
v |
o . . | .
i . | .
c . . | .
e . "He: [whitespace] Kinglists
\ [more whitespace] .
l . toward the earred dark"
i . . .
k . . . I mean,
e Ugh. .. . . .
"The young are delig (ed wit).their purchases"
s whereas "Kerouac tape.)a)q.)rter(over his navel
o & the edge renders it e(f a((ic)la ."
u ( )
n ( ) [passages above
d (( obscured by
s )) smoke]
" (
[:::| MARLBORO ]]]]
w
h *
e
n "reproductive organs
e "reproductive organs
v rendered as fact"
e rendered as fact"
r
*
s
t ---------------------------------------
r | """"""""""""" |
a | """" ^ """" |
n | """(*)""" |
d | /(\ |
s | (( )) |
| \(/ |
o | V |
f | / \ |
| / \ |
c | / \ |
o | / \ |
d |____________/_________\______________|
e | p o l a r o i d |
d ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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e is >
s
s nada@jps.net
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Love,
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e / || \
d R A Y. / | \
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. . .
. . . .. . . .
.
7/19/99
Dear Nada,
Bill Kushner is my favorite New York poet "Is this
the last kiss goodness I've got bad gas"
his drafts in Lungfull! 7
make me wish someone'd just print his notebooks
I guess it'll never happen
I don't understand how various choices
like looking up at laundromat TV
Saturday morning seeing long pan of coastline ... why?
& not realizing until 1:30 a.m. this morning jaunt to 12th Street Deli
some tabloid JOHN F. KENNEDY JR. presumed dead crash Martha's VineyardIntuitively I'd suspected disaster
& see now someone totally fucked up John-John really fucked it up
like a deathwish
"fucking everybody's standing around
& waiting to see damn what?"
They're playing that really awful Ricky Martin
on the radio again
(radio must have been more interesting in Cocteau's time
everything was more interesting in Cocteau's time
now it's the present
where I haven't had any sleep and both of us are at work
ho
humNow I'm trying to read Andrew Levy's Continuous Discontinuous
Now I've put that away and I'm looking through Lungfull! again
Now I'm thumbing through an old notebook
Now I'm looking through Levy's book again ...
I can't believe
there's nothing further to klept, crib, vamp on, spit at"it's over
my head""I don't know how to end it"
Thanks, Andy
.. neither do I!* * *
Nada, what *about* the Kennedy fuck up?
__ "It's really none of my business"
__ "He can't afford a pilot?"
__ "A tragedy, a tragedy!"
__ Other (attach answer)\ o / --(Hi. I work at City
\|/ Lights. You re-
| remember me, don't
| you? "Journal for
[Link to 346 photographs the Protection of
of JFK Jr.] All Beings"? Hey.
I watched the
[BBC broadcast of Kennedy Kennedy boy grow
tragedy] up he's like the
child of an entire
[Reuters photo of woman generation we feel
weeping at Kennedy apt.] like we raised him.
You're too young
[Carolyn Bessette Kennedy to remember any of
admired for style, grace] that I guess that's
why you feel you
[Lilies mark the spot can be "humorous"
where hope died] about this truly
mournful situation.
[Yahoo! clubs: JFK Jr.] Human life
Is
[Map of search area] Sacred.)
* * *
.
Love , Gary
8/3/99
Dear Nada,
"... those who are psychically ill need but
one thing--complete and repeated genital
gratification"
--Wilhelm ReichI guess we're
damaged I would never say oh well um perfect
though in love I always listen to what everyone
says our weaknesses we didn't even
go to Woodstock summer nearly over some leaves
crisp & brown have fallen some are yellow
while you sleep in another room that I imagine
I'm thirsty for though the temperature has dropped
and there's this turning of the earth
like how you turn now I can hear you in the other roomI'm in love with all your muscles light that polymorphously
felt good today no thought ironic
it all went well today we got away with everything
and now you sleep I drink beer and smoke watching other lovers
walking down to 7th Avenue then read about coherence
worth the celebration?
There is no such thing and we thank you
Nada and I thank you, Nada
for coming.
Brenda is an ass
not burning saliva mucus flesh O kiss me
saliva flows back into me
I'll do anything to fuck you
but if lyricism is what you want
I'll get you someSome people just want nouns & mucus
who can't fossils small green dots I begin to float
no not reallyHow much?
I'm a failure
No I'm not.
I'd better go.
Language is a real thing not imitation
and when I die
people will say I loved you.Why are you still sleeping?
I just love you
and so
I love everything
oh! you were dreaming
it's August it wasn't snowing
I worry I've used up all the praise & am reduced to nouns
& that they are food?
I guess I drank too much tonight
I guess I'm drunk now and that I asked for it.
Hey
open your eyes
please open themmy legs are white and no I'm not that sorry
Love,
Gary